


The Apprentice

by glassglassglassmadeofclass



Category: Original Work
Genre: Homestuck References, Magic, Original Universe, Wizards, Written for a Class, not very good lol, original magic system, this is old so. yknow.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassglassglassmadeofclass/pseuds/glassglassglassmadeofclass
Summary: The wizard’s apprentice truly didn’t understand the runes that shimmered and flew around him, cheeks flushing in embarrassment the moment he heard his mentor chuckle behind him. It wasn’t like the boy wasn’t trying-- truly, he was. He’d studied, and practiced, and even performed a few shows with lower level spells to shake some rust off. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get the hang of the newest spell she’d been attempting to teach him.





	The Apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> the magic system in this is very half-bakey and stuff but whatever, i had fun writing this back in march lol

The wizard’s apprentice truly didn’t understand the runes that shimmered and flew around him, cheeks flushing in embarrassment the moment he heard his mentor chuckle behind him. It wasn’t like the boy wasn’t trying-- truly, he was. He’d studied, and practiced, and even performed a few shows with lower level spells to shake some rust off. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get the hang of the newest spell she’d been attempting to teach him. The runes glistened and glimmered all over the room, as if mocking him, a tattoo, no, a testament to his failure as an upper-level magic user. Each rune glowed a dull blue before flashing blood red, ancient words of error in a language long dead, belittling him.

“Vantis, I certainly hope you didn’t try to perform this in public! You’d be the town jester, by jove!” His mentor, a witch in her young twenties, chortled out behind him. The woman had been a master of her class-- advancing the ranks and becoming world reknown by her teens. Truly, it seemed the only reason she’d ever agreed to teach him was to make up a promise to the boy’s mother, at least it had seemed that way to him. “I know it’s hard, but maybe just try a little bit harder.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Vantis, face turned as red as a strawberry, heart throuncing in his ears, gave a resolute cry of untamed rage as he took his wand into his hand and tossed it down. The wand, looking more like a sickly stick with a gem at the bottom, bounced harmlessly off the hardwood floors of the cabin, followed by it rolling silently under a small table.

His mentor’s smile melted off of her youthful features in less than a minute, replacing itself with a disillusioned frown, motherly disapproval radiating from every inch of the woman’s face. “Now, now, Vantis, that won’t do. You know how performing spells works whilst the average wizard is angry-- it doesn’t! I’m giving you the best education I can. I can feel your potential, and yet every time I try with you, you throw a temper tantrum.” Her hands, small little things boasting velvet-colored soft gloves, reached earnestly for her broom. “Maybe we should end this lesson today. It seems the baby needs a nap.”

Vantis felt the red hot beam of embarrassment cloud his vision once more, skin ret hot and throat sore, eyes blemished with tears. “No! I swear, I can do it! Come on, Cremmorah, please, I swear I’ll do better!”

“No. You can’t. I’ve taught you this lesson time and time again-- anger clouds and blocks the stream of magic connecting you to a wand. If an average wizard is to go ballistic, like you do, it completely severs his magical potential until he can calm himself. Now, there are some types of wizards who, for some reason, perform better under fury…” She thrust her broom into his trembling little hands with a disapproving titter. “But I don’t think you’re one of them. They’re astoundingly rare. I know there’s something special inside of you, Vant.” Cremmorah knelt down to the boy’s height, her hand on his shoulder in an almost maternal way. “Your mother was a very special witch as well. But if you keep letting yourself get like this, your magical potential will simply pass you by.”

Vantis gave a sheepish blink, casting his gaze down to the broom in his hands. It was ornately carved, and once had belonged to his father. Cremmorah was very close with both of his parents before the war arrived and struck them both down all those years ago. “Take this to go back home. Go to bed for the night and meet me back here tomorrow. You need to learn how to control yourself. Now go. The broom will return to me when you get off of it, I promise.”

A can of rage and spite bubbled up in Vantis’ throat. How come this had been so easy for Cremmorah? So easy for his parents when they were his age? How come all three had become magical prodigies by 15, and here he was, nearing ten, barely able to crest above third level spells? By the time they were ten, they’d mastered up to the tenth level! It made no sense to him. It angered him, it fueled his boiling temper, and with a flick of his wrist his wand suddenly flew into his open palm, the temperature of the wood matching the hotness of his face.

Cremmorah started backwards, hands splayed, eyeing the heated little wand grasped tightly in his hand. “How did you do that? I didn’t teach you that yet! I haven’t taught  _ any _ of my pupils that yet!” 

Without a word, Vantis lifted the wand above his head, the wood peeling off in an instant to reveal a new wand made of polished grey marble. Cremorrah stood in awe, hand placed against her chest, as Vantis pointed his wand and recited the spell he’d failed oh so many times before. Oh so many times of defeat, humiliation, scathing anger and the bruising of an ego. 

And it worked perfectly.

A single strawberry seed on Cremmorah’s desk, left there for the lesson, rose into the air and spun, it’s shell glowing a beautiful violet before it burst open with a bang, sprouting an entire plant. And from the plant sprouted flowers, and from the flowers sprouted perfect strawberries, a lovely shade of pure red and wholly ripe.

He’d not noticed, but halfway through Vantis had actually begun to levitate, only stopping to notice when his feet planted themselves back upon the floor with grace. 

The wand’s grey marble, once so shiny and lustrous, dulled, and from the gem sprouted the wood that had once encapsulated it’s true form. It’s heat sank, plummeting back to the comforting coolness that a stick should bear, and neither Cremmorah nor Vantis moved for what felt like eons.

When the silence was finally pierced, it felt like a knife cutting a taut bag of jelly, the atmosphere of the room quieting and simmering down to a dull thrum once again. It was Cremmorah who spoke first, gently pulling the boy aside, looking down at his eye level once more. Her figure didn’t radiate motherly love. This time, it exhumed pride, and a dash of primal fear at the fount of raw power that had been bestowed upon her eyes for the first time in a decade.

“I knew there was something special in you, boy.”


End file.
